Chapter 837: The Sovereign and His Minister of Jinling

Facing Han Xizai's silence, Li Jing seized the opportunity to question him: "Lately, you have repeatedly urged me to repair military preparations and perfect the river defenses, but even if the entire nation devoted itself to arms, what would it accomplish? As for taking the initiative to send troops, can you guarantee me, Minister, that we can defeat the Han army, recover our lost territories, and hold them?"

Li Jing's words were filled with defeatism—to gain a moment of peace and enjoy an evening of pleasure was already enough for him; what need was there for long-term vision and far-reaching plans?

Seeing Han Xizai's expression gradually grow agitated, Li Jing understood that he was about to offer those loyal remonstrances that seemed so pointless in his eyes. He raised his hand slightly to stop him, and said seriously: "Minister Han, this year is about to pass. You may prepare the tribute funds for next year in advance, so that we are not caught unprepared when the time comes."

Hearing this, Han Xizai's face twitched, and he replied in a low voice: "Yes!"

"Furthermore, the Han sovereign's reign will soon reach ten years. Since the state letter has arrived, our court ought to make some gesture. Hmm, I shall personally write a congratulatory memorial, prepare generous gifts, and send envoys northward to offer congratulations. As for this matter..." Li Jing continued, but noticing Han Xizai's somewhat unpleasant expression, he immediately changed his words: "This matter, I shall leave to Minister Zhong!"

"As you command! I shall not fail this mission!" Minister of Rites Zhong Mo rose, smiling respectfully.

"Good!" Li Jing was very satisfied with Zhong Mo's attitude.

"Your Majesty, there is still official business at the ministry. Allow me to take my leave!" Seeing that in the hall the wine continued to flow and the dancing continued unabated, Han Xizai was filled with helplessness. He bowed, seemingly eager to escape the "noxious atmosphere" of the entire hall and preserve his own aloof and incorruptible character.

Li Jing evidently did not want Han Xizai lingering there to spoil the mood. A magnanimous smile appeared on his slightly tipsy old face: "Minister Han's diligence in official duties is what brings me peace. You may do as you see fit!"

"Your servant takes his leave!" Han Xizai bowed again, then stooped and departed. Only when he turned at the palace gate did he flick his robe sleeve, as if venting his indignation.

After he left, the atmosphere in the hall cooled somewhat. Feng Yansi, seeing this, picked up a wine cup and approached Li Jing, speaking with indignation: "Your Majesty, you have been overly generous and indulgent toward this Han Xizai. This man thinks highly of his own talent and has always been arrogant. Now that he holds the reins of state, he acts wantonly and without restraint, despising his colleagues. Now he dares to defy Your Majesty's dignity—where is his sense of ministerial propriety?"

Hearing this, Li Jing looked at this favored minister who had not aged much, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he replied: "Han Shuyan has always been like this. These years, he has done a decent job managing state affairs. Come, let's ignore him—don't let him ruin our enjoyment!"

"Yes!" Feng Yansi raised his cup in response. His demeanor was quite composed—after all, slandering required persistence, gradually poisoning and defaming bit by bit.

Between Feng Yansi and Han Xizai, it was not merely personal enmity but primarily a conflict of interests. Since Song Qiqiu and his partisans died, Feng Yansi had become the sole leader of Jiangnan's meritorious nobles, bureaucrats, and landowners. In recent years, the reforms led by Han Xizai had severely encroached upon the interests of his clique—how could he not harbor resentment?

However, the upper-class forces had been heavily suppressed because Li Jing curbed factional strife. Under the enormous threat of the Northern Han, Han Xizai, under the banner of saving the nation and strengthening it, carried out reforms and won public support, making it difficult to resist the general trend. Yet covert opposition, distortion of his policies, delays, and obstruction never ceased.

On the other hand, Feng Yansi personally held a poor opinion of Han Xizai as well—aloof in public, yet equally extravagant in private life, while daily criticizing people like them for being wasteful and pleasure-seeking...

As for the changes and struggles below, Li Jing was in fact well aware, but he chose to support Han Xizai's reforms. The greatest reason was that after losing the north of the Yangtze, the Southern Tang's finances had fallen into crisis, and the economic complementarity and balance between Jiangnan and the north of the Yangtze had been severely disrupted.

But under the adverse circumstances, the court's expenditures had increased—post-war compensation, the rebuilding of military strength, the support of meritorious nobles and bureaucrats, the luxurious lifestyle of the imperial house, and the hefty annual tribute. For the Southern Tang court, tax revenue had to be increased, and change was imperative: either levy heavy taxes on the common people, or turn the blade against the meritorious ministers, bureaucrats, landowners, and wealthy merchants who held the bulk of society's wealth.

Li Jing chose the latter. First, because they were wealthy; second, because a group led by Han Xizai strongly advocated it. Regardless, with Han Xizai charging ahead, he, the sovereign, could remain hidden behind as the referee—nothing could be more perfect.

However, over the past two years, because of Han Xizai's reforms, the court was filled with complaints, and voices attacking the new policies repeatedly arose. With the constant stream of slander and defamation, Li Jing, whose ears were already soft, had evidently begun to entertain second thoughts.

While enjoying the fruits of Han Xizai's reforms on one hand, he had also begun elevating the status of Jiangnan's meritorious nobles and bureaucrats on the other. There was a practical issue: when Li Bian founded the state, he had relied on the support of the Jiangnan literati group. Those people could be considered the foundation of the Southern Tang, sharing the nation's fortunes.

In fact, the Southern Tang and the Later Shu were quite similar—flourishing culture and education, prosperous economy, but weak military. Yet in terms of ailments, the Southern Tang was even worse: severe land annexation, the common people at the bottom struggling to make a living, and after ceding the north of the Yangtze, the situation deteriorated sharply. Many meritorious nobles and bureaucrats with major interests north of the Yangtze had no choice but to find ways to make up their losses in Jiangnan.

Han Xizai's reforms, though having some suppressive effect, treated the symptoms rather than the root cause. Under resistance from top to bottom, they advanced with difficulty, and as time went on, grew ever more arduous.

Because the territory was long and narrow, threatened on all sides, and the external environment extremely hostile, the "doom-laden atmosphere" in Jinling was even thicker than that of the former Meng Shu. After all, the Meng Shu still had the continuous towering mountain ranges as a reliance, while the Southern Tang could rely on essentially only one great river—and even that was the Yangtze, half of which had been given away. Could that stop the Northern Han? No one believed it.

When a state is about to perish, chaos abounds. That Jinling could still maintain a certain stability by the tenth year of Qianyou was already the result of Han Xizai and other ministers' painstaking efforts. But how could the general trend of the times be reversed by a handful of people like Han Xizai?

Li Jing and Feng Yansi, sovereign and minister, each harbored their own thoughts. Meanwhile, Minister of Rites Zhong Mo was clinking cups and enjoying himself with others, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the two, a subtle smile perpetually on his face, full of meaning.

On his side, Han Xizai walked slowly in the cold wind toward the Xuanzheng Hall. Looking up at the pale sky, the scene from the hall just now surfaced in his mind, and boundless melancholy filled his heart.

He, Han Xizai, had crossed south over thirty years ago, with more than twenty years of wasted time. Though treated generously by the Tang sovereign, he had never held real power, had always been envied by others, and was deeply mired in factional strife with the Jiangnan literati.

Only when the Han army marched south, the north of the Yangtze fell entirely, and the state was plunged into crisis did he finally receive true appointment. In these years, he had gathered a group of like-minded men, withstood enormous pressure, and vigorously carried out reforms, intending to turn the tide and prop up the collapsing edifice.

There were naturally achievements, but the results always fell short of satisfaction. The series of policies targeting the parasitic meritorious nobles, bureaucrats, landowners, and merchants did increase tax revenue and ease the court's fiscal pressure, but the state's strength never improved as a result. The common people at the bottom continued to live ever more difficult lives, and he still had to face endless criticism and slander from inside and outside the court, with the backlash from Feng Yansi and others growing ever fiercer.

And the fruits of his reforms were used for annual tribute, for maintaining the court's luxuries, for supporting meritorious nobles and bureaucrats—far from the wealthy state and strong military he had envisioned.

Of course, the state was limited by its circumstances; after all, one could not start over from scratch. All reforms were limited in nature, amounting to improvement. He knew their limitations well, and that was not unacceptable.

What grieved Han Xizai most was Li Jing's attitude. When the sovereign himself was utterly dejected, dispirited, and drifting along, what could his own enthusiasm accomplish? In recent years, Li Jing's changes had given Han Xizai a deeper realization—this was not a sovereign to whom one could entrust one's aspirations.

Yet Li Jing's kindness in recognizing and promoting him was genuine, and it had given him room to exercise his talents. Toward Li Jing, Han Xizai truly could not bring himself to hate him.

Contradictory emotions occupied Han Xizai's heart. The cold wind seemed to mirror his mood, and as he walked, he lost his way. Gazing at the splendid palace scenery of Jinling, Han Xizai sighed deeply to the heavens, which ultimately dissolved into dejection.

He no longer went to the Xuanzheng Hall. He left the palace and returned to his residence, summoned friends, prepared wine and feasts, and indulged in pleasure to console himself...

In the Tortoise Hall, the banquet was in full swing, wine at its peak, sovereign and ministers abandoning all restraint and singing at the top of their lungs, when an official with a white cloth wrapped around his forehead, his face full of grief, walked in under the guidance of a palace eunuch.

Li Jing recognized the newcomer as a subordinate official of the Duke of Jin, Grand Commander of Hongzhou Li Jingsui. Seeing his appearance, his heart skipped a beat, and the wine no longer tasted good. He asked with slight tension: "Why have you come, dressed like this?"

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Jin, at Nanchang Prefecture, was assassinated and has already passed away!" The newcomer prostrated himself, weeping bitterly, his voice heavy with sorrow as he reported.

As his words fell, the entire hall was shocked into momentary silence.

Li Jing was momentarily stunned, then his body stiffened, the wine cup in his hand toppled over, and he nearly fainted. Only with the support of the palace eunuchs did he slowly recover. Soon, tears spilled across the palace as he wailed loudly, crying out "My brother!"

Shortly thereafter, on account of the Duke of Jin Li Jingsui's death, Li Jing ordered mourning to be held in the Tang palace for his brother, with all officials in Jinling observing the period of lamentation, and urgently dispatched men to Nanchang Prefecture to escort his coffin northward.

Of course, one thing was certain: because of Li Jingsui's unnatural death, the court in Jinling would once again be swept by a wave of political turmoil. Smart people all connected Li Jingsui's death to Li Hongji.

Hiding away in Runzhou—could that avoid suspicion? He seems not to know the story of "no silver buried here"—the more one tries to conceal, the more obvious it becomes...